


Steps

by vega_voices



Series: Come Rain, Come Shine [46]
Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hospital, Just Get Married Already, Step-parents, mentions of war zone violence, recovering from trauma, rehab center, these two idiots, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: Peter tugged her closer and kissed her, deeply, and she melted into the moment until she needed to break for air. God, she loved him. Murphy settled back and glanced over to where Avery was watching with a big grin on his face. In the last year he’d gone from her baby boy to a little man, racing around the playground at school like it was a soccer field. “What is it, kid?” She teased.





	Steps

**Title:** Steps  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Fandom:** Murphy Brown  
**Series:** Come Rain, Come Shine  
**Pairing:** Murphy Brown/Peter Hunt  
**Rating:** Adult  
**Timeframe:** After Old Flames, before Aftermath (Season 8)  
**A/N:** This wraps up the miscarriage/breakup/fixing canon arc.  
**Disclaimer:** So, when talking about the revival, Diane said that she won’t be paying any attention to stuff that happened while she wasn’t on the show. So … does that mean this isn’t part of what she owns? (JUST KIDDING). TPTB have all the rights to Murphy. I’m just cleaning up some of the … mess.

 **Summary:** _Peter tugged her closer and kissed her, deeply, and she melted into the moment until she needed to break for air. God, she loved him. Murphy settled back and glanced over to where Avery was watching with a big grin on his face. In the last year he’d gone from her baby boy to a little man, racing around the playground at school like it was a soccer field. “What is it, kid?” She teased._

**Critical Care Wing  
** Air Force Base Hospital  
Rammstein, Germany 

Nights were the worst. When she wasn’t haunted by the repeated image of Peter being blown up on national television, Avery was waking from similar dreams, screaming for his father. It had been such a terrible year. The miscarriage, the broken wedding, the breakup, and then Peter in Mogadishu for three months. The only bright spot had been them getting back together, but the last three months of separation had put a damper even on that. Somehow, the blows kept coming and somehow they’d survived but somehow, they were all a year older and it wasn’t one she wanted to remember. If Murphy had started attending more AA meetings over the past year, that was her secret to manage. She couldn’t stumble and fall off the wagon now.

Peter was going to be fine. She knew this because he had good doctors who were doing good things and he was responding just fine to treatment. It didn’t mean she didn’t want everything to return to normal. Especially since after only a week here in Germany, she knew she needed to get home. She’d had a couple of canned stories that weren’t earth shattering. FYI could run them through next week, but then she had to get back. The worst part was standing in the doorway of Peter’s hospital room, Avery tugging on her hand, and hating herself for even thinking about work.

He looked so broken, so tired. It terrified her. What did all of this mean, really? For him? For them? They’d both been so independent all of their lives and even with his broken leg last year, there hadn’t been this kind of situation. Was it a good thing they’d called off the wedding? Or had they just hurt themselves even more? She was good at being a journalist and she wasn’t terrible at raising her son. But, was she really cut out for partnership? What if he never really came back from this? Was she ready for what long term issues might arise?

What if he couldn’t be a journalist anymore?

But, the hardest part for Murphy was that she wasn’t, technically, family. Not according to the letter of the law. And even with Peter stating, blatantly, that Murphy needed to be in on the conversations with the doctor, the medical team kept referring back to Katherine and George. She had access to be on the wing, but she wasn’t allowed to stay overnight. No, Katherine had set up her motherly watch, and as soon as visiting hours were over, she made no bones about kicking Murphy and Avery out.

At least today she’d been in the office with Katherine while rehab options back in the States were discussed. Katherine wanted him in St. Louis. Murphy was about ready to kill her.

“It’s Peter’s decision,” Murphy said, ending the conversation. “He isn’t in a coma. He can sign for himself. I’ll bring this back to him.” She met the doctor’s eyes, begging him not to go over her head. He looked at Katherine, who shrugged her sulking assent. Murphy sighed and stood up, desperate to get back to Peter’s side.

She slipped back into the hospital room before Katherine could take over the moment. Peter was sitting up in bed, Avery on his lap. Avery was pointing to words in the paper that he recognized and reading them out loud.

“Hey, you two,” she said as she came in, ruffling Avery’s hair before sitting down. “How’s the news?”

“Informative,” Peter said with a grin. “Avery’s learned a lot the last few months.”

“Tell me about it,” she chuckled. “You gotta stop being so smart, kiddo.”

“No!” Avery argued and then turned back to the paper.

Peter looked at her. “Well?”

“Your mom wants you back in St. Louis.”

“I don’t want that.” He clenched his good fist. “I want to go back to DC. I don’t want to be away from you and Avery.”

“The doctors know and I’ll drop kick your mom before I let her drag you back to St. Louis. But, they’re saying you’ll need to go to rehab for a couple of weeks and get your strength back and then send you home with outpatient care.”

He visibly relaxed. “Good. Good.” He leaned back a bit into the bed and stared around the room. “A week in and I’m going crazy.”

“That’s a good thing.” She smiled. “If you were comfortable, I’d be worried you hurt your head harder than we realized.”

“Fair.” He groaned. “Another five weeks of being encased in plaster is going to kill me.”

“Nah,” she kissed his hand. “I promise you’ll be fine.” Peter tugged her closer and kissed her, deeply, and she melted into the moment until she needed to break for air. God, she loved him. Murphy settled back and glanced over to where Avery was watching with a big grin on his face. In the last year he’d gone from her baby boy to a little man, racing around the playground at school like it was a soccer field. “What is it, kid?” She teased.

“Ew.” Avery said, grinning.

“Get used to it.” Peter reached out and ruffled his hair. “I like kissing your mom.”

“Mommy?”

“Yeah?” She tore her eyes from Peter and looked at her son. “What’s up?”

“Did you ever get hurt like dad?”

She sighed. How much information did she tell him? What did she dare reveal? How did she do it? It wasn’t like she was going to go over the history of the Vietnam War with her five-year-old. “You mean, did I break my leg and break my shoulder and break my skull?”

Avery giggled. “Yeah!”

“Well,” she said, “I never got hurt like this, but yeah, sometimes I got hurt.”

“Bud you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“Just like Daddy?”

“Just like Daddy.”

Avery nodded but suddenly the emotions were too much and he started to cry. Murphy reached for her son and cradled him close. It was going to be okay, everyone was just fine.

**Evergreen Rehabilitation  
Washington DC**

This was the height of recovery? The pinnacle of rehab centers? Murphy shuddered every time she stepped into the building with its wood paneled wallpaper and falsely perky nursing techs, she wanted to kill herself. One week in and she and Peter both were ready to just pay for in-home services. As she moved down the corridor toward his room, her liberal guilt twinged. She and Peter could pay for the best. What were conditions like in places that were state-care only? She made a mental note to open an investigation for a story.

At least the last week had been one of intensive rehab that made Murphy glad she couldn’t be here all the time, hovering like … well … Peter’s mother, who hadn’t forgiven her son for making the grown up choice to go back to DC like a big boy. If she ever became that type of parent, she wanted the universe to kill her by hitting her in the back of the head with a bottle of Jim Beam.

Four weeks since the explosion. Four weeks of touch and go moments in surgery, mending bones, delays in Germany, and wondering if the concussion symptoms would give way. Luckily, they had. For the most part. She stepped into the private room and shut the door, closing them off from prying ears of nursing staff. The Tattler would love to get details on the tough guy and his recovery. She was here past visiting hours and she didn’t care. Security could drag her out if necessary. Wouldn’t be the first guards she’d dodged over the years.

Peter was sitting up on the battered couch in the room, reading. And he wasn’t shying away from the light. A good sign. “Hey,” he said as she dropped her jacket and bag onto a chair. “Good show tonight.”

“Thanks,” she walked over to the couch and sat down next to him. “What’s on the page tonight?” He held up a tattered copy of The Stand. Murphy wrinkled her nose.

“Have you ever given King a chance?”

“Yes!” Murphy chuckled. “But I’ve seen my fair share of horror.”

“Fair enough.” He put the book down and took her hand.

“How are you feeling?” She asked as she curled up close.

“Caged. But the therapist said I’m making progress.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m so done with this.”

“Maybe it’s time to stop standing in front of bombed out buildings?”

His silence told her it just wouldn’t happen. He loved it too much.

“Was there any time you were scared during the months you were embedded?”

“No,” Peter said. “Murphy they were amazing.” He squeezed her hand and she searched his face.

“Where did you go?” She asked.

“Is it terrible that I’m so glad you weren’t pregnant when this happened?”

The question hit her, hard, slicing right through the wall she’d built up around the hurt that was the miscarriage. “No,” she coughed out. “No it isn’t.”

“But, would I even have been over there in the first place?”

“Peter Hunt,” she retorted, “if this opportunity had come up, even if I was bedridden, I’d have threatened to divorce you if you didn’t go.”

“And what if it had come up for you?”

“It wouldn’t have because those stories aren’t on my radar anymore. But, if they had, well.” She sighed. “Look. When I was pregnant with Avery, I had to slow it down eventually. He was more important. The same would have gone for our baby if I hadn’t miscarried.”

He was quiet. She didn’t push.

“That is the catch isn’t it?”

“What?”

“We still aren’t married and it’s …”

“We weren’t ready for it.” She stopped. “No. We were, I think we were. But now we’re not. Peter, I’m okay with just being together right now. It doesn’t change how much I love you. And right now, I think we both need there to be no pressure other than what we give ourselves.”

“I’d have given up Mogadishu to see you through a safe pregnancy. I hope you know that. And I still ... I know they say it’s a normal thing. But, if I had been here …”

“If you’d been here, then we would have ended up at the ER and had the same result and honestly, I probably would have pushed you out the door sooner.” She felt him shift, arranging his leg just a bit, and she moved so he could shift the pillow under his thigh. “You okay?”

“Honestly?”

“Of course.”

He met her eyes in the dim light. “I miss you.”

The meaning was clear and Murphy felt the familiar flush through her body. She knew he was changing the subject partly to get away from the pain they were both still managing, but also, a conversation like this was circular and good reporters knew when to shift the flow. Anyway, she missed him, too.

“Are you up for something?” She leaned over, running her hand down his chest, stopping at his waist. He’d lost weight over the last month.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But, I really wouldn’t complain if you …” His breath hitched.

Murphy slid her hand under the band of his sweats, running her fingers through the tangle of hair before cupping him in her hand and stroking her thumb slowly along the length of his half-hard cock. “I’ve missed you too,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss his neck.

Peter moaned and pushed his hips against her hand, grunting just a bit at the exertion. Murphy stroked down his length, feeling him come alive in her grasp. “This okay?”

“God, yes.” He gasped. She wanted to move to the bed, to give them more space, but knew the energy it would take to do so would ruin the moment. So, instead, she leaned in, kissing her way down his body until she pulled back, freed him, and lowered her mouth to him. “Murphy …”

For a brief moment, his hand settled on her head before sliding down to her shoulder and back. Murphy worked him, her mouth moving slowly, listening for the familiar grunts and hitches in his breath. She wasn’t expecting him to be able to control himself tonight. It had been too long and he wasn’t exactly in his best frame of mind.

He surprised her, but pushing on her shoulder, his sign that he was getting close.

“Murphy,” he moaned again, “I …” She pulled up, removing her lips from him, her hand stroking him slowly while she waited to see what he wanted. His face contorted and his hips pushed up one more time before he came, groaning out her name. “God … I …” he caught his breath and met her eyes. “Thank you.”

She claimed him in a tender kiss before getting up to get a washcloth. He was half asleep when she returned and Murphy held off making a snarky comment about men and sex, but dropped the washcloth onto his hand. “You’re on your own for that,” she teased. He chuckled and cleaned himself up. Murphy tossed the washcloth into the sink and stood before him, hands on her hips. “You want to try and get to bed or sleep on the couch?”

“Bed,” he grunted. “But not yet. Come here.”

She obliged, wondering in passing if he’d return the favor. She missed him too, after all. But he was half-dozing and Murphy shifted her hips - she’d take care of herself when she got home. She felt his breath return to normal, his body shift into the slouch of near-sleep.

“Hey,” she poked him. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Peter groaned and stared, frustrated, at the wheelchair he was using to transfer back and forth. The shoulder injury hadn’t allowed for crutches and his physical therapist didn’t want him to make the transition to them until next week. Murphy crossed her arms and waited for his personal pity party to pass. It did and he grunted as he moved to the chair. She let him push himself the few feet to the bed, moving ahead of him so she could get the pillows set up. By the time he settled into bed, he was mostly asleep.

“I’m so sick of this,” he muttered.

“Just another couple of weeks,” she soothed. “I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon with Avery.” But he was already asleep. Murphy pushed his hair back off his hair, adjusted the blanket, and tiptoed out - ignoring the stares from the guards as she went.

**Peter Hunt’s Apartment  
Washington DC**

The only light in the living room was from the lamp over the entertainment center and the lights from the street outside. Murphy let out a long, contented sigh before inhaling deeply the scent of apple and cinnamon from the mug in her hands. Next to her on the couch, Peter grunted his own agreement as he slid an arm around her. Murphy snuggled in close.

He was home. The cast was off his leg but the boot that had replaced it was almost as frustrating. He was still being checked regularly for any issues related to the head injury, but he seemed fine. More easily tired, which was to be expected. But he was home and his apartment was more than enough for them right now, considering he couldn’t exactly get up and down her steps. But she and Avery were united on this front - they were staying together as a family.

“So?” She asked, sipping at the cooling liquid. “This better or worse than the broken leg in the jungle?”

He laughed, short and hard, and she felt the quick intake of breath. His ribs were still sore. “Well, I can’t remember most of this and the jungle is etched into my memory, so …” Murphy sighed into the touch as he stroked his fingers along her arm. “Honestly, it’s strange since this almost killed me but … the jungle was worse. I spent all that time praying I’d get back to you and the last thing I remember before Mogadishu is thinking I’d get to see you soon. And then, you were there. I mean, you were in the hospital, but you were there.”

“Can you please stay out of war zones for a while?”

He was quiet. Long enough that Murphy leaned up and checked to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep on her. That was still prone to happen, especially with the pain meds he was taking. But his gaze was directed toward the dark outline of Avery’s room.

“How did you do it, Murphy?” Peter finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How did you find that balance between being a parent and a reporter? How do you live your life but still … find that way to come home to him at the end of the day?”

“Well,” Murphy leaned forward to put her tea on the coffee table and then took Peter’s mug from him. “By the time he came along, I was doing more interviews with Margaret Thatcher than with the leader of the resistance in the Sudan.”

“Good point.”

She squeezed his good knee and snuggled in closer. “But, I remember the first time my name didn’t get called for a war zone after Avery was born. I was still on maternity leave and something had broken out in Serbia and I just … I swear, Peter, I had the go bag on my bed. Avery was sitting there in his swing, staring at me with his big blue eyes, and I just … I …” she sighed. “I remember I just sank onto the bed. How could I stay here with him when kids over there needed their stories told, you know?”

“How did you reconcile it?”

“I turned on the TV and some guy in a ripped t-shirt had beat me to the camera. Now, don’t get me wrong, I hated him for it. But …” she kissed his cheek. “The truth is, I came to learn, Avery’s story gets really screwed up if I’m locked away in a foreign prison for doing my job. So, I cut down those stories. And it’s hard. But, if I only go into a war zone three out of every ten times instead of ten out of ten, my odds are better.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Also,” she shrugged. “After a while, I honest to god got tired of sleeping on dirty mattresses and fighting for bunk space for guys who wanted to smell my hair. I put in my miles. I earned my reputation. I wrote the damn book on how you all do your jobs. I’m ready to sit behind the anchor desk and do something different. Someone has to report on the stories here too.”

“That … had to have taken a lot to admit.”

“It did. And even though I punched you over the whole concept, I am still figuring it all out.” Murphy looked at his profile. “What about you, Peter? Is this it for you?”

Again, he was silent. He kept his eyes on Avery’s bedroom door. “I wish I could say that it is. I don’t ever want to put you through that again. Ever. But …”

“But, you belong out there.”

“Yeah, I do. Which, isn’t fair to anyone.”

“It isn’t going to be what makes me run away, if you’re wondering.”

He let out a bit of a breath. “That helps.” His gaze returned to Avery’s room. “What if he never forgives me for it though, Murphy? Jake is already gone. And now he associates me being gone with bad things happening.”

“Jake was never here,” Murphy corrected. “And he showed up just in time to scar Avery and trust me, I have a skewer job report all finished and ready to drop if he ever does it again.” Peter chuckled. “As for you, Peter, Avery worships you.” He was quiet and Murphy took the mug from him and placed it on the coffee table. “What is it?”

“I always wanted a son,” Peter said, his voice soft. “I know it’s stupid and sexist. But I always wanted a son. I have one.”

“Yes,” she kissed him. “You do.”

He met her eyes and Murphy felt a surge run through her. There was more than lust in his gaze, questions and a conversation they would be addressing for the rest of their lives, but right now, he wanted to change the topic and she was more than happy to assist.

“Come here,” he commanded, tugging on her. Murphy sat up, sliding one legging-clad leg over his waist, settling into his lap. Through his sweats, she could feel his erection and she ground against him, watching his face as their bodies connected.

“It’s been too long, Peter,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him, controlling the moment, moving her lips to his neck while her hands pushed his shirt up. “I miss you inside of me.”

His groan became a growl and he tugged her t-shirt up and over her head, flinging it to a corner of the room. In the morning, she’d worry about Avery finding scattered bits of clothing. Tonight, she wanted Peter deep inside of her and he seemed to be completely on board. Her need for physical connection warred with her body’s movements and she stayed where she was, moving against his hips, pressing his head to her breast as he took one nipple between his teeth. “Fuck, Peter …” she gasped. “God …”

One hand guided her ass as she ground her core against his erection, the other worked one nipple between his fingers. She whimpered - it had been so long - and felt her body tense as the slow warning of release washed over her before the final tremors took her over the edge.

She was disappointed. That was hardly having him deep inside of her.

“Let’s go to bed,” Peter murmured. “I’ll be better for you if I can stretch out.”

She nodded, still trying to collect her thoughts, and moved ahead of him, letting him set his own pace. In the bedroom, Murphy slid out of her leggings and stretched out on the unmade bed, naked. A few moments later, Peter limped through the doorway, and when Murphy got up to help him, he waved her back down. “Let me look at you,” he sighed. “You’re right. It’s been too long.”

It took a few minutes - undressing, situating himself on the pillows, elevating his foot, but his body couldn’t deny his own desires and when Murphy rose up over him, he pushed up into her as she lowered herself down.

God, it felt good.

Murphy held perfectly still, her eyes closed, feeling Peter’s hands on her hips as he steadied her. His body was warm beneath hers, hard and solid. Slowly, ever so slowly, she began to move, picking up the familiar pattern of riding him. Her thighs protested from the movement, but her body kept her on top of him, building the rhythm until she felt him tense and grab her hips and she leaned back, sliding her hand down her body, and touched herself. He crashed over the edge first, calling her name, and she followed, collapsing onto him, too spent to be appalled at the whimper that emerged from her lips as she buried her face in his neck.

“I love you,” she whispered, pressing her mouth to him. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Peter chuckled beneath her, but his arms wound around her body and he held her tightly to him. “Me too,” he murmured. “Me too.”

**Murphy Brown’s Townhouse  
Georgetown**

Murphy entered the townhouse and stopped short. She’d known the boot was coming off today. She’d wanted to be there at the appointment when he’d finally been declared as healthy as doctors and physical therapy could make him. But a source had called about a story she’d been tracking for months and so she’d gone into the dungeons of the Bennett Building. After, she’d been hit with an overwhelming need to not ruin her years of sobriety and taken advantage of the meeting she liked attending happening nearby. So, she’d sat through an hour and a half of droning worries and anxiety and felt slightly less alone. At least she wasn’t going to jump down a well of whiskey.

Peter and Avery were sitting on the floor, Avery’s school workbook between them, while Avery sounded out letters and made sense of the words.

“Mommy!” Avery called out, his little voice full of the excitement Murphy was feeling. “Mommy! Daddy got on the floor!”

“I see this,” she said, kicking off her shoes and moving to sit on the couch. “Don’t mind if I stay up here.”

Peter laughed and looked up at her. “How was the meeting?”

“Less productive than I’d have liked,” she admitted, wondering if he meant group and not her source. But they’d discuss that later. “What are you two up to?”

“Words like pancake and waffle,” Peter replied. “Tomorrow, I think we start legal terms.”

Murphy laughed. “Good to know I’m getting what I pay for with tuition.”

“What’s tuition?” Avery looked up at her.

“Well,” she said to her little redhead, “it’s the money that I pay so you can go to school.”

“How much is it?”

“More than you have in your piggy bank,” she said with a smile. “So that you can go to the best schools forever and ever.”

“I wanna be like you and Daddy!” Avery exclaimed as he climbed up onto the couch. “I wanna tell stories.”

A shiver ran through her as every single image of everything she and Peter had experienced flashed through her mind. “Well,” she said, trying not to squash her child’s hopes for the world. “There’s a lot of ways you can do that. Right now, let’s just work on pancake and waffle.” The terror of what they’d just gone through with Peter was too much to handle. What if Avery disappeared on a story? What if he got hurt? What if …

She’d rather him end up in Congress than follow her and Peter into the family business.

Luckily the tactic worked. “Okay!” He said, sliding back off the couch and going to his workbook. He stretched out on the floor and picked up where he’d left off.

Murphy leaned over and ran her fingers through Peter’s hair. “What did the doctor say?”

“I’m mended and stitched together and as long as I don’t plan to run any marathons any time soon, we should be in good shape.”

“I’ve never understood people who ran for fun,” Murphy quipped. “There’s got to be something wrong with them.”

“Murphy …”

“Yes?” She smirked.

“You know I run for fun.”

“You do other things for fun too,” she winked. “Speaking of, we have to get dressed if we want to make dinner.”

“We did buy the tickets.”

“And everyone is asking about you.”

Peter groaned. “Suddenly, I’d rather stay home.”

Murphy chuckled and stood up. “I’m going to change.” She winked at her partner before kneeling down to ruffle Avery’s hair. “Your dad and I need to go get ready for dinner. We’ll be back, okay?”

Avery looked at her, the realization they wouldn’t be home tonight hitting his face, and pouted. “Fine.”

“God, he’s just like you,” Peter muttered as he pulled himself to his feet.

Murphy laughed but let the comment linger, choosing instead to make her way up the stairs. She had to decide what dress to wear.

When she emerged from her closet, her red dress molded against her body, she took in the sight of Peter fiddling with the jacket of his tuxedo. “Are you up for this?” She asked, moving over to him. “Because we don’t have to go.”

“Let’s see …” Peter looked at her, a smirk crossing his face, “you look … like a damn angel. And I’ve already wiggled into the monkey suit. I think we’re going.”

She chuckled and adjusted his bow tie. “You look amazing. I kind of want to keep you inside, all to myself.”

“Like I want to watch the men stare helplessly at you all night?”

“Yes, you do. It makes you feel important.” She rolled her eyes. “We can leave whenever you need to, okay?”

He kissed her. “Okay.”

Silence descended on them for a long moment and she reached up to stroke his cheek, brushing his hair over the still-red scars from his injuries. “You’re going back out there, aren’t you?”

“Eventually.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Murphy, I can’t … I can’t not. There’s too much out there.”

“I know.” She bit the inside of her lip. “So,” she bucked up her courage, “tonight we’re going to the press club and you’re going to smile at everyone and then come back here and make love to me. We’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Avery stood in the doorway to the bedroom, pouting. “I wanna go!”

“Nah,” Peter said, scooping down to pick him up. He grunted a bit, wincing at the weight, but it was getting easier every day. “Your mom and me, we’re gonna be totally bored.”

“Stay home!”

“Well, buddy, we gotta go. It’s kinda important. Sometimes grownups have to do things that are boring. But you and Reena are gonna have fun tonight.”

Avery wailed. Murphy didn’t fall for it. Instead, she let Reena take over and pulled the keys to the Porsche out of her purse. “We’ll be back in a few hours,” she informed their dedicated nanny.

“We’ll be here,” Reena said with a smile.

The drive to the Press Club was quiet, but Murphy didn’t push. Truthfully, she was tired of pushing. Tired of asking. She just wanted things to be okay again.

“It’s been a long year,” Peter finally said. “Almost a year since I proposed. Feels like we’ve barely moved, you know.” Murphy’s stomach dropped a bit and she glanced at him, scared for whatever else might be coming out of his mouth. What was he saying? “I don’t want you to think the year was wasted though, Murphy. Even if it feels like …”

At a stoplight, she put her hand on his thigh. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t believe I almost lost you twice in a year.”

“Well, to be fair,” she chuckled a bit, “the second time wasn’t your fault.”

“The first one was?” She could hear the raised eyebrow.

“Hey, I took video of your bachelor party.” Peter almost laughed. Murphy spoke again. “But you’re right. We were stupid.”

“We were.”

“We could take a right instead of a left,” Peter said. “Find a judge.”

Murphy let the reality of the option sink in. Finally, she took a breath. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t want us getting married because of trauma.” She sighed. “You proposed to me when you found out I wasn’t pregnant. We’re talking about it now. Can we just … enjoy each other?” She pulled into the Press Club lot and waved at the valet to wait a moment. Peter looked at her and she took his hand. “I mean it. Eventually, you’ll get me in front of a judge. But you’re right. It’s been a long year and we’ve barely gone anywhere. So, let’s just go to this party. Let’s just be together. And when we’re back on our feet …” they shared a smile. “Literally, back on our feet, let’s talk about it again, okay?”

He let out a breath. “I just don’t want to ever lose you, Murphy. Not again. I can’t go through that again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Peter. Married or no. Somewhere along the way, I realized I can live without you. But, I don’t want to.”

Peter took her hand and kissed it, softly. “Same.”

She leaned over, kissed his cheek, and slipped out of the car. “Be careful with her,” she lectured to the valet.

“I know, Ms. Brown.”

She rolled her eyes and walked around the car to where Peter was waiting. He offered his arm and she took it. “Let’s go raise some money.” He paused. “But, don’t leave me alone in there?”

Murphy grinned. “I make no promises.”

Peter groaned and together, they walked into the club.


End file.
